


4:13 A.M

by anillegiblemess



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Sadstuck, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 13:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anillegiblemess/pseuds/anillegiblemess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>fight off your demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	4:13 A.M

**Author's Note:**

> this is an older piece that i made... around january or february? even if its a few months old, i still like it, so i decided to put it here. i dont quite remember what spurred me to write this, but, long story short, i was crying and didn't know how else to cope besides write. so, this is sorta personal in a way.

It’s 4:13 AM and the mattress is squeaking as the one who lies beside you slips out of the covers and proceeds through the bedroom door, closing it behind him. The sigh of the hinges wakes up more of your semi-conscious mind and you remember that he does this all the time. 

Ever since the end of the game he’s been doing this. Every night, from the day Sburb met its finale, he gets up at exactly 4:13 AM, no more, no less, and goes to the bathroom. The sound of a faucet running reminds you of what he does in there, which is exclusive all in itself. To be honest, you don’t really know why he does it. You like to think it may be a post-traumatic stress symptom or a general routine he always did. You mean, he never sets an alarm clock for this hour and yet, he knows exactly when to get up. Right when that clock strikes 4:13, he’s up and awake. He’s precise on when to come back to bed as well; always five minutes after. At 4:18 AM he’s back in bed. 

You never asked what he did and you never spied either. It was his business and he would tell you if he wanted you to know, right? Either that or it can’t be that important. However curious you may be, you don’t pry. It’s either out of respect or just common courtesy, but you don’t ask questions and he doesn’t give you answers.

You’re about to nod back off to sleep when you notice the time on the clock. 4:19 AM. A slight spark of fear, weak at first, settles inside your belly. It grows stronger with each passing second and every tick and tock of the second hand rotating endlessly on the old fashioned alarm clock on the desk beside you. The faucet is still running. It’s now 4:20 AM and the clock never stops counting time.

Arguments of whether or not to check on him hassle your brain. A curious leg stretches off the bed and your body begins to rise, warm blankets falling into folds beside you. Still, your body freezes as the more courteous side of you says to lay back down. Nothing calms you however, and you are left stuck between getting up and settling down. 

More agonizing minutes pass. 4:25 AM. Your fingers start to shake and you rub them together in hopes to quell the trembling, but nothing eases and you are left with your whole being rattling like bones. 

Light suddenly floods the whole room and encases you in unnatural yellow of a hallway light bulb. There, he stands. His whole body is stiff and doesn’t move forward. His ocean eyes are wet and spilling tears. 

“John?” Your voice is hoarse and at the very mention of his name, his knees buckle and he collapses on the ground. Another shout of his name sake and your legs start moving by themselves, coming to a rest at his side as you kneel down and hoist him into your lap. Your arms curl comfortingly around his back and your gentle hands trace circles on his shoulder blades. He’s shaking more than you, and sobs flee from his mouth and his fingernails dig into the bare skin on your back and spine. A babble of words is formed on his tongue and he spits fragments of sentences that are hard to make sense of.

A rolling coo rises from your throat and as you warble, you rock him back and forth, “Shhh… Shhh… Shoosh…” It calms him down enough to where he begins to speak normally, however quiet he may be.

“I can’t do this anymore… I just want to die… I hurt myself again; I can’t keep this up…” 

Realization strikes you and suddenly the gears in your mind are put into motion, “Hurt yourself?” You query, but you already know what he means and you break from him for just a second to grab his wrists and examine them. Scars criss cross the delicate surface, and you immediately spot the fresh wounds. John still has tears streaming down his cheeks, but he is no longer weeping, and just hiccupping. 

You look at him in sympathy, and, you lean forward, kissing him on the forehead as he dips his head in apparent shame. He doesn’t need to feel guilty, though, you forgive him. The game you all played took its toll and John saw many of his friends and family die right before his eyes. You understood it all because you saw the same people die too. 

Your lips meet the scabs on his arms and you begin to kiss each one, counting each one as you went all the way up to his shoulder on his left arm, and then you did the same on his right. 

“There’s more…” John mumbled. He had previously kept quiet while you pecked at the slits. His finger pointed towards his thighs, and, slipping off the sweat pants he had worn to bed, you began to kiss those as well, resuming your counting. You make sure not to miss any prick, and even count the scars that have mostly healed. Once the second and last leg is done, you come to a conclusion. 413 scars.

You glance up at him when you’re done, and, you catch the vague trace of a smile. You knew then how thankful he was for your presence. Clasping his hands together in your own, you look straight at him and lean forward, your bushy eyebrows slightly brushing his own.

“I’m sorry…” John starts, but you intervene.

“Don’t be sorry for anything. Things like this happen. I understand your pain; I’ve been there before.”

“I just… I could have helped them all… God, I could have sacrificed myself for all of them but I… I was a coward… I’m no hero now. I let everyone down… I’m such a huge fuck up…” John’s eyes squeeze together and tears just start to blossom from the corners of his eyes, “I want things to be back to the way they were…”

“I know…” You mumble and close your eyes, listening to his voice as it cracks from pain and anguish.

“I want to wake up someday and be back in my old room, smelling my dad’s baking downstairs…”

“I know…”

“I want to play the piano again without pressing keys at random and all the notes getting reversed in my head…”

“I know…”

“I wish this game never happened and that all of this is just a fantasy…”

“I know…”

“I wish that I had met you because of different circumstances and not just the shitty game…”

“I know…”

“Most of all, I wish I was dead instead of everyone else…”

_“I know…”_ Your words and firm and your grip on his hands tighten. You open your eyes again to find fresh tears dribbling down his chin.

“John, I know. I know how you feel and I’m not just saying that to cheer you up. I honestly understand every word you speak and I wish the same thing too… I wish I had died right alongside them.” You pause and take a breath before continuing, “but you know, life isn’t fair like that. You lose people and things change, for better or for worse. What counts is the memories and…” Your fingers grasp his shoulders and your thumbs massage the surface of his skin as you finish, “and what you have right here in front of you."

He is speechless, and his eyes begin to dry. You take it as a sign to conclude, “John, promise me you will not do this again? I know, the road to recovery is going to be hard, but I’m going to tell you now that I will always be here. For you. I will try to help you, I swear I will.”

His Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows back some tears and then he begins to nod and he leans forward, catching you in a tight embrace.

“I promise… I promise you, Karkat, that I will be strong again. For you.” He sniffles but doesn’t start crying again, and instead, the both of you sit in the silence and the darkness, receiving warmth from each other and never wanting to let go.

**Author's Note:**

> karkat why are you so out of character no stop
> 
> i expected at least a "fuckass" or some other unoriginal degrading slip of the tongue
> 
> im ashamed in you
> 
> also this is kinda a late 4/13 thing? (like really late because i originally wrote this months ago but w/e) ahaha happy 4/13 you guys even though mine was spent running from the cops... ahhh fun times


End file.
